


Canary

by lumbeam



Series: Playing Roles [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Breathplay, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-23 01:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15595293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumbeam/pseuds/lumbeam
Summary: Hank and Connor try roleplaying.





	Canary

“Hank, we’re wasting our time with him. That fuckin’ bucket of bolts won’t get a confession out of this guy!” Gavin grumbles, making his way to the door to pull Connor out of the interrogation room.

“Reed, Jesus Christ, he’s been in there for a few minutes, give him a chance!” Hank calls out to him. Gavin scoffs and stands by the door, arms folded. Rolling his eyes, Hank directs his attention back over to the two way mirror.

The suspect is in custody under suspicion for murdering his wife. Whether or not he did it, they’re trying to find out. At the scene of the crime, the man was distant, withdrawn. His supposed alibi is that he went out to the gas station for some smokes and he came back to find his wife’s dead body in the kitchen. The murder weapon has not been found. It’s not looking good for him.

Connor, having been hired on the DPD as more than just the token android, has been selected to get the confession out of him. Sort of a dry run for interrogating humans. Lt. Anderson figured this case seems pretty cut and dry, so it wouldn’t take long for _anyone_ to eke out a confession from this guy.

On the other side of the mirror, Connor isn’t getting much out of him. Actually, he’s getting _nothing_ out of him. Either the suspect is shell-shocked or he doesn’t want to further incriminate himself by messing up his alibi. He just stares back at Connor, blankly.  
“Okay Derek, maybe we should go back to the beginning?” Connor asks, eyes darting to look at the casefile. “You left the house at 9:57 p.m., how long does it take to get to the gas station near your house?”  
  
Derek, eyes unfocused, stares blankly at Connor. The only sound in the room is the _tick-tick_ of the analog clock above the mirror.  
  
He leans forward and sighs (despite not needing air to breathe), “If you’re not going to help me, then I can’t help you. You’re under suspicion for _murdering your wife_ . If you don’t start giving answers soon, you could go to jail for life. Do you not know how much of a possibility that is?”

Derek’s eyes flick toward Connor’s general eye line, then back to a thousand-yard stare.  
  
Connor gets up, metal chair making a horrendous scratching noise against the floor. He leaves and makes his way to the other side of the mirror.

As soon as he gets into the room, Gavin ambushes him. “Connor, why are you giving this fucker such softball questions? We can’t keep him here forever you know! Maybe have someone like me get the confession out, and you can go back to flipping your fuckin' coin and being Hank’s lapdog?”

“Hey, _hey_!” Hank interjects, wedging himself between the two of them.

Getting defensive, Connor says “I’m trying to go about a different line of questioning that uses compassion and relating to the suspect, Gavin. I understand you’re not aware of this method.”

“You _fuckin’ plastic prick_ \--” Gavin grits out, trying to move past Hank and rip out Connor’s heart.

“Gavin, take a walk!” Hank scolds.

Gavin storms out, slamming the door behind him.

“Christ Connor, you really know how to rile that son of a bitch up.” Hank says, partial admiration in his voice.

Connor’s LED turns yellow. “I’m just trying my best to do my job, Hank. I don’t need him coming after me when I do it.”

“I know, I know,” Hank sighs, taking a sip from his coffee. It’s gone lukewarm, much to his dismay. “But I do think you should go for a different method.”

Connor searches Hank’s face, expecting an elaboration.  
  
“Well, this guy is, ah who knows, actually in shock or _what_ , but speaking to him in soft tones and asking him simple questions is not going to get a confession out of him. You need something to zap him back to reality and wake him up, like--”

“Throwing him in a cold shower?” Connor asks smugly.  
  
“All right, asshole, get back in there.” Hank grins back, sipping his coffee. “Don’t be afraid to get mean with him.”

Nodding, Connor makes his way back to the interrogation room, LED spinning yellow.

Slamming the door to make Derek jolt up, Connor stands across from him, his hands on the table.  
  
“Do you think I’m a _fucking_ sap, Derek?” Connor asks, and Hank can see the yellow light glowing on his temple through the glass. It’s still odd to hear Connor curse, like a dog walking around on its hind legs.  
  
That snaps the suspect out of his daze. He looks up at Connor, whose LED keeps oscillating from yellow to red. “Wh--what?” Derek asks, startled.

“You’re assuming that because I’m an android that you could just skate by and not answer my questions.” Connor explains, leaning over the table more.

Derek shakes his head, clearly rattled by this change of pace. “I didn’t --”

“I think now would be a good time to start telling the truth. Why did you kill your wife?”

“It wasn’t me!” He shouts out, voice cracking.

“ _Bullshit_ , Derek.” Connor says, slamming the table with one of his hands. Hank laughs to himself. Like a fish riding a bicycle. “Your alibi won’t hold up here and it sure won’t hold up in court.”

Derek looks at Connor, eyes wide. He says nothing.

“My partner and I did a test to see how close the nearest gas station was. In obeying the speed limits and traffic at the time of night when you said you left, it takes about four minutes. Even if the gas station was busy, count in maybe five minutes. Then another four minutes coming back home. How many minutes is that, Derek?” Connor narrows his eyes.

“Th-thirteen--”

“With that in mind, in the thirteen minutes you were gone, someone broke into your house, killed your wife, and fled without any witnesses? There were also no signs of forced entry. I find that hard to believe that it was not you.”

Derek says nothing.

Connor, standing upright, starts drilling him with questions. “Did you kill her because of money? Or was it infidelity? Or maybe you just couldn’t take it anymore. Did you fight often? Did you beat her, or did she beat you? Why did you do it?”

Hank sees the questions getting to Derek. He’s going to have to send the “bad cop questioning” programmers a card or something.

“I didn’t!” Derek says, tears welling up in his eyes.

Connor walks over to Derek’s chair, kicking the leg of it so he can look at Derek. He snaps his fingers, forcing the suspect to stare at him. Hank, seeing this, grips his coffee mug just a little tighter.  
  
“I’ve been monitoring your heart rate since this began. Even when you were in shock, it was beating just as fast as it is now.”

Derek is near hysterics. “It--wasn’t me!”

Connor kicks at his chair again before getting close to Derek’s face, red tinted by the LED.

Just as Hank is nearly about to crush his mug in his hand, Gavin steps back into the room with a coffee. “What’d I miss? Anything?”

Hank shushes him. Gavin scoffs.

Back in the interrogation room, Connor holds his stare. “If it wasn't you, then who was it?”  
  
The suspect’s lower lip starts trembling before he breaks out into an all out sob. “My _brother_ !” He cries. “I paid him to do it!” He starts to say other things, but it’s all unintelligible.

Connor steps back, LED spinning to yellow. “...Thank you Derek, that’s all that I’ll need for now.” He says calmly, sounding like he completely reset his demeanor.

He leaves the room, Derek’s sobs getting quieter and quieter with each step.

On the other side of the mirror, Gavin is the first to give his ‘compliment.’ “Not bad for a plastic asshole.” He says, taking a swig of coffee.

“Good job, Connor,” Hank says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. It does not go by unappreciated by Connor. He smirks and gives a small nod to Hank.

Now starts the process of tracking down Derek’s brother.

\----------------------------------

One relatively simple arrest and a small mountain of paperwork later, Hank and Connor are on their way home. The rain in Detroit has been particularly miserable for the past few days, slowing down traffic something awful.

“That was quite a display you put on. Surprised the guy broke as fast as he did.”

“I was simply following the program that came with my model for interrogations of that nature.”

“Still, it was pretty impressive.”

Almost instinctively, Hank reaches over and starts rubbing Connor’s neck with his right hand.

“What’s going on?” Connor asks, his skin starting to slip away from his neck, revealing his white shell.

“What, can’t a guy just be affectionate for once?” Hank asks, glancing over at Connor.

“It’s uncommon for you to initiate. It always seems to be me.” Connor says, thinking of all the times Hank has put the moves on him. He can count it on one hand.  
  
Hank sighs and pulls his hand away out of embarrassment. “Do you have to analyze _everything_ ? Maybe for once, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Searching his program and finding nothing, he gives Hank a quizzical look.  
  
Scoffing, Hank says, “It means don’t be fucking ungrateful, okay? Jesus…”  
  
Connor, nodding slowly, says nothing. Hank turns on his music to compensate for the silence.

\-----------------

Over their dinner (or, at least, _Hank’s_ dinner), Connor can’t help but notice Hank is avoiding eye contact. He’s sitting across from Hank, but with the way he’s acting, Connor might as well be on the other side of the city.  
  
“Hank, you seem preoccupied. Is everything all right?” He watches Hank take a long swig from his beer.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, everything is _fine_.” He says with a sigh, setting his bottle down on the table. He watches the condensation form on the glass.  
  
“I find that hard to believe.” Connor says, resting his elbows on the table.

Hank looks up. It’s the first time he’s made eye contact since the car ride.

Hoping Connor isn’t monitoring his heart rate, he decides to broach the subject. “I had a thought earlier when you were interrogating that guy.” Back to focusing on the condensation.

Connor furrows his brows slightly. “‘A thought?’”

“Well yeah, just, you know…” He trails off, not being able to completely say it.

“No, Hank, I don’t know.” Yellow LED.  
  
Hank takes a bite of his leftover Chinese food. “Ah, forget it. It’s nothing…”  
  
“I think being open with each other is very important.” Connor says, it being easy for him to say since he’s a newly deviant android. “You should tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Hank chugs his beer to work up the courage. “Okay, fine, Jesus! I was just…wondering if we could try roleplaying.”

Faster spinning yellow LED. “Roleplaying?”

Hank can’t decide if Connor is deliberately being obtuse or if he genuinely doesn’t know. Instead of getting embarrassed again, he presses onward. “You know, like I’m a suspect and you’re…you.”

Connor sits back in his chair. “This is an interesting development for you, Lieutenant.”

Hank runs a hand over his face. “Don’t call me that _now-_ -”

“We’ve never tried anything like this.” Is all Connor says, his LED spinning slower. He seems to be searching his programming for executing this idea. He finds nothing.

“Look, Con, we don’t _have_ to try it.” Hank’s face is getting hot. Not so much blushing as it is the embarrassment setting himself on fire.

“No, we can try it. I think this experience would be beneficial for the both of us.” Connor gives a slight smile. His LED is back to blue.  
  
\----------------------

They decide Hank’s bedroom is the best Sumo-free location in the house. Hank brings one of his kitchen chairs along with him.

“Should I wear my uniform?” Connor asked, eyes glancing over at his suit that’s hung up perfectly in Hank’s closet. He’s found that Hank’s old clothes are more comfortable to wear around the house than his starchy uniform. _Guess the desire to wear lounge clothes comes with deviancy,_ Connor muses.  
  
“It’s up to you.” Hank says, searching for a pair of handcuffs. He realizes he might have a pair stored away under the bed, buried underneath moth-bitten police uniforms, so he starts looking down there.

“I think it would help with the illusion.” Connor decides, tugging his soft shirt over his head.

Hank, after successfully finding a pair of handcuffs, sits in the kitchen chair and waits for Connor to finish dressing making himself prim. When he’s finished, he sees the handcuffs in Hank’s hands.

“Do you want to use those?”  
  
“I think it would help with the illusion.” Hank says with a smile, repeating Connor.

After finishing in tying his tie and adjusting his coat lapels, Connor asks, “Have you done this before?”

Hank slings an arm over the back of the kitchen chair, thinking. “Once, a long time ago, with this one girl I was seeing. Think she was like a princess and I was a brave knight or somethin’. Fuck, that feels like it was a lifetime ago…”

Before Hank slips into a depression on the passing of time, he notices Connor fixating on the handcuffs. “What?”

“Are those DPD-issued handcuffs?”  
  
“Why, does it matter?”

“I’m asking because I hope you have the key that goes to them.”

Hank didn’t even think of that. “Ah, _fuck_ , it’s probably still somewhere under the bed. Hold on.” With a groan, he goes back to looking under the bed for the key. Knowing his past self, he probably left them in the breast pocket of his old _old_ uniform.

“Hank, I was thinking that we need to use a safeword.” Connor says to Hank, his voice modulated a little louder to account for the mattress between them.

“Okay, what word do you want it to be?” Hank calls out while feeling for the key in his uniform. Turns out he was right about it being in the breast pocket. “Ah-ha! _Found it_!”

Connor waits for him to get out from under the bed. “I was thinking, maybe…’canary’?”

Hank makes a face at him. “' _Canary’_?”

“I generated a list of words that would be the least likely to use in a sexual setting. Then I chose one at random.” He explains.

“‘Canary’ it is, then.” He tosses the keys on the bed and sits back down in the kitchen chair. “Are you ready?”

Yellow LED. “How should we start it?”  
  
“Well. You could _start_ by handcuffing me--” He tosses Connor the cuffs, which catches him by surprise.

Connor nods, fumbling to get the cuffs open. Hank swings his arms around the back of the chair, his knuckles rapping on the wood in anticipation.

Finally, Hank is cuffed. Connor walks around the chair face him. Yellow. Yellow, yellow.

“...Everything all right there?”

His eyes survey the situation. “I think I might need to leave the room to help prepare myself for this.”

Hank, shrugging, says, “Be my guest.” Connor walks out of the room, slowly, being careful to shut the door quietly. For that minute where Hank is handcuffed in his bedroom alone, he thinks about all of this being a mistake.

He hears the door open. Connor strides towards him, carrying a stack of irrelevant magazines. “Mr. Anderson,” he announces, his voice sounding more put upon than usual. “Let me ask you a few questions--”

“The fuck is this?” Hank asks, leaning back in the chair.

Connor opens one of the magazines as if it were a file. “You should know exactly what this is, _Hank_. You’re being charged with--”  
  
“ _Canary_!” Hank says, much like a director would say ‘cut.’ “What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

Connor furrows his brows again. He’s searching Hank’s face to see if he’s joking. “I’m... role playing. You’re a murder suspect, and I’m--”

“I don’t think you understood what I meant, Con.”

“I understand this is for sexual gratification, is it not?”

“Well, _yeah_ , but...I want you to treat me like that guy you interrogated earlier today.”

“But I am. I’m going about how I approached him exactly.” Yellow, yellow.  
  
“How about you do both of us a favor and cut to the part where you were aggressive?”

“I’m not sure how good I’ll be. It might be tough for me to get to that program when it’s not applicable to a criminal investigation.”

“Just try it. I’ll help you out.” Hank says smoothly.

Somewhat placated by this, Connor nods and exits the room again. Another minute passes. Hank feels the regret creeping up his spine.

He’s startled by the door swinging open. “ _Hank Anderson!_ ” Connor yells, “Tell me where the bodies are!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Hank says, grinning.  
  
“Yes you _fucking_ do!” Like a horse on a skateboard. “You definitely murdered all those people with a murder weapon! And you were in X location at 00:00 time!”

Clearly Connor’s program has placeholders. “ _Canary_.” Hank sighs out.

“I told you I couldn’t run that program, Hank.” Connor says defeatedly.

“All right, all right, we don’t have to continue. Maybe I jumped into this idea--”

Connor places a firm hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Let me try one more time. I’ll see how well I can function on improvisation.” He hustles to the door, shutting it. “Give me some details to work with.”

Hank has never once taken an improv class, so it’s tough to think on his feet. “Call me Henry! You know I killed someone weeks ago and I won’t reveal where I buried them!"  
  
“Who was it that you killed!” Connor shouts back through the door. It’s hard to say if walking out of the room really helps prepare him for anything at this point.

“My...neighbor?” Hank shouts with a shrug.

“Knife? Gun? Bare hands?” Hank can practically hear the android’s LED spinning.

“Uhh...gun!” Hank says. No response. He waits. It feels like a lifetime.

The door opens slowly, then shuts. Footsteps toward Hank’s chair.

Then Hank feels a tug on his hair. His head gets yanked back, which he embarrassingly yelps at. He then sees Connor in view behind him, red LED spinning.

“I hope today you’re more willing to talk about where you buried your neighbor, _Henry_ .” His voice is cold, clinical.

“Fuck you, I’m not telling you shit.” Hank resists the urge to spit at Connor, who would probably break his demeanor to examine the saliva with his tongue.

“Spoken like someone who shot his neighbor full of holes.” Connor says, almost with a bit of playfulness in his voice.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, you fuckin’ prick. You can’t make me talk.” Hank grovels.

“Oh, I can’t?” Connor asks, trying to raise one eyebrow. Both eyebrows raise instead. “There’s no one else in this room here, no one is watching us. Just you and I.”

“What do you mean by that?”  
  
  
“It means I can do _this_ \--” Connor punches Hank in the face. He didn’t hold back on his strength.  
  
“ _Fuck_! _Canary, canary!_ ” Hank shouts, the pain radiating through his skull.

His LED is yellow now. “I thought you wanted me to be aggressive!”

“Not aggressive enough to cave my fucking face in!” Hank grits, trying to wriggle out of his cuffs. He glances over at the bed to check if the keys are still over there.  
  
“Hank, I feel that you’re sending me mixed messages. Either I am too gentle or I’m too aggressive with my role. I don’t know what you want from me.” He goes to sit on the bed, frustrated in a variety of ways.

“What I _want_ right now is for you to get me out of these cuffs.” Hank’s wrists are starting to hurt.

A directive. Tangible instructions. An outright rejection of an order.

Connor stills his thought process, his LED briefly flashing to red. “... _No_.”  
  
“What the fuck do you _mean,_ ‘no?’” Hank asks angrily, watching Connor get up from the bed.

“I don’t need to explain myself, _Henry_.” Connor says, his voice in a slightly lower register. Hank stops struggling in getting out of the handcuffs. The android gets up and moves in front of Hank, eventually wedging one of his legs between his knees. “You can’t just order me around.”

Hank wraps one of his feet around the back of Connor’s wedged leg, pulling him in closer. “Oh _yeah_ ?” He grins, “What can I do to change your mind?”  
  
He runs a hand through Hank’s hair, gently. “If you confess.” Connor grins back at Hank, continuing their flimsy narrative from earlier.

Hank can’t help but laugh. Even in a roleplay scenario he has to accomplish what he started. “No fuckin’ way I’m confessing _now_ .” The hand that’s caressing Hank’s hair pulls hard. “ _Fuck!_ ”

Connor is waiting for “canary.” Nothing happens.  
  
“Guess I’ll have to use the hard way to get you to confess.” Connor muses, focusing on the sensation of Hank’s hair going through his fingers. He trails down to his jawline, feeling the coarseness of his beard hairs.

Hank, thinking about a different “hard way,” responds, “You get more flies with honey than vinegar, Detective Connor.”

Despite enjoying that title assignment, Connor says, “Canary.”

Rolling his eyes, Hank explains. “It means you’ll get more out of people if you’re nice than if you’re an asshole. You need a turn of phrase program installed.”

Yellow LED. “That’s good to know.” Getting back into roleplaying, Connor wraps his hand around Hank’s neck.  
  
He’s about to squeeze when Hank says “I didn’t just say that idiom out of nowhere, you know.”  
  
“Oh, I’m aware.” He starts to squeeze. He remembers how nonchalant Hank was at the Eden Club, examining the bruises on the victim’s neck. “ _Maybe it was just rough play_.” That phrase rings back in Connor’s head as he presses his fingers against Hank’s throat.

They lock eyes. “Not sayin’ shit,” Hank says, and Connor can feel the vibrations of his vocal chords as he says it. He presses a little harder, getting a feel on how far he can go with this. Hank tilts his head back more for Connor to get a better grasp around his neck. Connor gets into a pattern of tightening his grip, then loosening a little before going tighter than before, much like a boa constrictor. It isn’t until Hank is red in the face from the lack of airflow to his brain that he coughs out, “Canary.”

He gives one last hard squeeze to his neck before letting go, which Hank softly groans at. After getting a few deep breaths of air, Hank grunts out, “You’re gonna have to get me to talk in a different way, _if_ you really want me to help you.”

Yanking at Hank's hair again, he pulls him into a heated kiss. Connor’s finally gotten past the point of using his tongue for examining things when he kisses Hank, although that was a difficult development. At this point in their relationship, Connor still notices the components in Hank’s saliva, but makes sure not to let Hank in on the details. Connor wonders how past Connor, the RK800 fresh off the CyberLife conveyor belt, would react to seeing his future self playing tonsil hockey with _anyone_ , let alone his assigned partner.

Hank widens his legs enough for both of Connor’s legs to be between them. Connor bites at Hank’s lower lip, a little too hard. Hank gasps in surprise, wincing a little. His hands begin roaming all over Hank’s body, feeling the slopes and curves everywhere. Hank tenses a little at this, feeling strange about being groped on his “problem areas.” Then again, Hank feels everything on him is a “problem area” despite Connor’s insistence that it’s not the case. Connor’s hands run smoothly down to his legs, and he kneels in front of Hank. “I think I know _exactly_ how to get you to talk.” Connor says, his LED flickering from yellow to red.

“You’ve known this whole time, _Detective._ ” Hank slides down a little in his seat, legs still wide. Connor, smirking, rubs at Hank’s thighs, easing his way up to his zipper. What a sight to see Connor so _sure_ of himself in this capacity. Hank has seen this confidence, sometimes bleeding over into cockiness, working in cases and solving crimes, but he’s never seen him like this right before he’s about to blow him.  
  
Needless to say, it’s an image Hank will be using as fodder for the foreseeable future. 

Connor unbuttons Hank’s pants excitedly, tugging them down halfway to his legs. His hands caress Hank’s bare skin, slowly inching their way up under his boxers.

“Henry, do you want to give me any details? If you help me, I’ll help you.” Connor says, his fingers digging into Hank’s thighs.

“Why do I need to? You’re already going to suck me off.” Hank grins. Connor slips his hands away from Hank’s thighs. Connor rocks back onto the balls of his feet, pulling away from Hank. “Hey, _Connor--_ ”

“ _Detective_ Connor.”  
  
“ _Detective_ , where’re you going? I thought you wanted to get me to talk.”

“You’re talking to me now. I’m just waiting to see if you have any pertinent information on where the body is.” Blue LED. Yellow LED.  
  
Hank, trying to get out of this dumb tete a tete play Connor is doing, rolls his eyes and says, “He’s buried on Front Street. Not saying what house number it is until you get me off. In both ways.” His feet once again wrap around Connor’s back, pushing him back into his lap.

“I’ll hold you to that, _Mr. Anderson,_ ” Connor says, his hand slipping under Hank’s boxers and grabbing his cock. He slowly starts to stroke it.

“Gonna need more than that to get your answer.” Hank says, tightening his legs around Connor.

Connor _tsks_ . “So impatient.” He continues to slowly stroke Hank. His hand runs up to the tip, and he feels the wetness of precum. Connor pulls down Hank’s boxers, and his cock flops out from the thin fabric. Connor’s index finger touches the tip, just enough to get the bead of precum on his finger. He pulls his hand away slowly, focusing his attention on the thin clear fluid as it stretches. Connor sticks out his tongue to catch the precum between Hank’s cock and his finger before pressing his tongue against the tip. He pulls back a couple of times and watches the connection, almost entranced by this strange fluid. Hank watches this weird scene, brows furrowed in confusion. Before he can say anything Connor finally wraps his lips around Hank’s cock. The question bubbles up in Hank’s throat before it comes out as a formless moan. He didn’t know how long he needed this to happen until he feels Connor’s tongue swirl around the tip.

Connor slides easily down to the base, something that Hank never gets tired of _or_ used to. Hank is starting to groan with each time Connor goes tip to base. It’s almost too much. One of Connor’s hands slinks under Hank’s shirt, grabbing at his belly, exploring the expanse of his chest. Hank, at this point, doesn’t really mind. He’s too wired to be hung up on self image issues now. Connor’s other hand wraps around Hank’s cock, and he continues to bob up and down. There’s no wet sounds of slurping. As a matter of fact, this is one of the only times that Connor is _quiet_ , and it’s also when Hank is getting a blowjob. The best of both worlds.

Connor pulls off of Hank and looks up at him. “You ready to confess?”  
  
“Not even close, Detective. I’m closer to cumming than confessing.” Hank’s foot runs up and down Connor’s back.

“Is that so?” Connor asks with a smirk. He grabs Hank’s cock, and instead of going back down, he starts to jerk him off.  
  
“Come _on_ , Connor, go back down!” Hank whines pathetically. 

That _fucking_ smirk is still Connor’s response. “No.” He licks the underside of Hank’s cock, maintaining eye contact. Even though he knows it was him that suggested it, he sincerely wishes he was uncuffed. All bets would be off for who would be in control if that happened.

“You son of a _bitch_ \--” Hank says, getting frustrated at watching Connor smugly run his tongue along Hank’s length.

“Not until you confess,” Connor says, his lips brushing against Hank’s cock as he says it.

“Oh _Jesus,_ Connor! Fine, it’s--” He thinks of a fake address. “1542 Front Street. I buried him in the back, right under the willow tree.” Connor swirls his tongue around the top, but then goes back down. “ _Augh_ , I’ve told you what you wanted, now _please_ get me off.” Hank is never too proud to beg.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Connor says in a tone much too formal and professional to use while you’re blowing your partner. Like he promised, Connor goes back down without another word.

It wasn’t long after that Hank finally, _mercifully_ cums. He even shivers as he cums in Connor’s mouth, which isn’t normal for him. “Oh _fuck_ ,” he groans in an exhausted tone as he breathes deeply.

Connor, still probably swishing Hank’s cum in his mouth for analysis (the weirdo), grabs the handcuff keys and uncuffs Hank.

“Thank Christ,” He says, rubbing at his wrists. He gets up and pulls his boxers back over his softening cock, but kicks off his loose jeans. He crawls over to bed, feeling incredibly exhausted.

Connor, on the other hand, is still getting undressed. Being careful to hang up his uniform for tomorrow, he makes sure everything is without a wrinkle. Finally, he swallows Hank’s load. He gets back into his lounge clothes, feeling more relaxed.  
  
Hank, half-asleep, motions for Connor to come to bed with him. “Not yet,” he says, moving towards the door to let Sumo in. The large dog bursts through and jumps up on the bed, right on Connor’s side.   
  
“ _Sumo_ , please!” Hank says, laughing as he pets him. “This isn’t your bed anymore!” Connor smiles to himself at this scene, taking care to lay on a small sliver of space that Sumo hasn’t taken. There’s a quiet moment between the two of them as they pet Sumo. Hank’s hand catches Connor’s as it’s scratching behind the dog’s ear. Connor looks over to Hank.

“Is something wrong, Hank?” Connor asks. Yellow LED.

Hank searches Connor’s face, trying to find the words to say. Instead of what he wants to say, he replies “You’re a good detective.”

Connor laughs at this, LED spinning to blue. Hank gives his hand a squeeze before turning to shut off the light.

**Author's Note:**

> I also wrote two side stories that I couldn't seem to flow with the main work. I posted those as a separate story, located in my profile.


End file.
